


Even Supposing -

by casuallyhl



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 19th Century, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Baker Harry, Blow Jobs, Bottom Harry, Brief Mentions of Blood, Christmas, Established Relationship, Fluff, Illness, Kid Fic, M/M, Smut, Tailor Louis, Top Louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-02 03:09:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8649292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casuallyhl/pseuds/casuallyhl
Summary: Money is tight this year, Harry knows. As he strolls through the tailor’s shop, he knows this. But, Louis was right. This is their first Christmas as a married couple, and it’s the two year anniversary of when they met. He wants to surprise his husband with two wonderful gifts for his birthday and Christmas. He wants it to be unforgettable.Or, a Dickensian London AU where Harry and Louis overcome illness, small budgets, and their own stubbornness to give each other an unforgettable first Christmas together.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [birdwithme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdwithme/gifts).



> This fic was an absolute dream for me to write, because this autumn I began working on my masters in Victorian Literature. I had a class that specifically focused on the working classes of Victorian London, so a lot of my ideas for this fic came from those lectures. That being said, I have taken some creative liberties, so not everything is historically accurate. I am very aware of what is not accurate, so rest assured that everything is intentional.
> 
> If any of you are fellow Victorianists or Dickens scholars, if you can find any of the allusions/references to Dickens, you are my favorite and please let me know what you find!
> 
> An important note: Period homophobia does not exist in this fic. Fic is a happy place and I have no patience for homophobia, thus the lack.
> 
> Infinite love and thanks to [Rachel](http://scholasticdreamer.tumblr.com/) for betaing and for encouraging me whenever I had writer's block. You are the best editor and an even better friend. Love you lots xx
> 
> For birdwithme. I hope you enjoy this fic and don't mind the angst! Thank you for the lovely prompt x
> 
> Trigger warning: There is some intentional and non-intentional neglectfulness when it comes to eating. No one has an eating disorder, but I just wanted to include a warning for anyone that may need it!

_London, 1853._

The first snow of the season begins falling as Harry Styles steps out of the bright, warm Adelphi Theatre.

The lights from the marquis shine harshly against the white blanket slowly coating the city.

Early winter has been unforgiving thus far – making the Londoners bundle up in as many layers as possible to keep the frosty wind off their hands and faces. November to February, all of London seems to bury itself in a cocoon of scarves, hats, thick coats, and wool gloves.

But Harry thinks there is something magical about the first snow of the season, despite the temperature. Even after a mild summer, the cold air feels refreshing as every breath turns to icicles. It’s as if Harry’s lungs, too often filled with the bake house’s smoke and dust, are for once taking clean, full body breaths. The raking cough that has become as familiar to him as his long brown curls or his clumsy feet seems to cease, just for a moment, and his lungs enjoy the rejuvenation of the winter air.

But only for a moment.

Too many deep breaths and his insides begin to feel numb. His lungs heave in protest, causing him to cough into his fist. He shivers dramatically, pulling his thick jacket tightly around him and adjusting his scarf snuggly around his neck.

It seems every day only grows colder and colder, the thick London fog trapping the frosty weather. Harry buries his hands into his coat pockets, thankful for the foresight to bring his thickest pair of gloves.

The crowd mills about him, everyone huddling for warmth underneath the portico as they wait for carriages and omnibuses to take them home. An icy wind blows through, and Harry coughs harshly into the elbow of his coat from how the wind seems to curl around his lungs. It takes a moment for the cough to pass, his throat dry and sore from the persistent scratch.

Slowly, the crowd begins to disperse. Several omnibuses heading towards Stratford come by, all filling up too quickly for Harry to hop on. He knows it is only polite to let the lords and ladies go before him, but such protocol feels excessive when it’s so bloody cold.

As the omnibus pulls away, leaving Harry alone with only a handful of others, he hears a young girl whine behind him. “Louis, I’m _cold_.”

“Here, love,” answers a high, sweet voice. “You don’t have your coat buttoned properly.”

Harry turns towards the voices, and sees a young man with his back to Harry kneeling down to button a young girl’s coat. The girl, no older than thirteen, has long, brown hair, and her cheeks are bright pink, which contrast obviously with her blue lips. Another girl with long, blonde hair, probably a few years older, stands next to her, looking smug. She has a scarf wrapped tightly around her neck, clearly not as cold as her companion.

The young man finishes buttoning up the girl’s coat, but she continues, “I’m still cold. Tell Charlotte to give me her scarf.”

“You should have remembered yours if you wanted it so badly,” the blonde girl, Charlotte, responds haughtily.

“Louis…” the brunette girl begins, but Harry interrupts.

“Here, you can have my scarf.”

The girl looks up at him with big eyes as Harry begins to unwind his scarf from his neck. The man stands up, turning around to protest.

Harry’s hands freeze mid-movement as he takes in the sight of the man before him. He stands shorter than Harry and looks only slightly older than Harry’s twenty years, but his stature is proud and imposing. He has short, wispy brown hair and a light dusting of reddish-brown scruff on his chin. Even in the darkness, he can see how blue the man’s eyes are, and they remind him of the sky on one of the rare cloudless summer days in London: bright and welcome. The man is also flushed from the cold, an attractive light pink highlighting the sharp cut of his cheekbones.

Harry suddenly finds it difficult to breathe, and for once, not because of his terrible cough.

“Please, sir, don’t trouble yourself,” the man begins just as the young girl pipes up, “Yes, please!”

“Félicité,” the man says sternly, fixing the girl with a glare. “Don’t be rude.”

“Please,” Harry says kindly, smiling first at the man before looking at the girl. “I have no need of it.”

He holds out the scarf to Félicité, and she smiles politely as she takes it. “Thank you.”

“Yes,” the man echoes. “Thank you.” He holds out his hand, the skin bare with no glove to protect it. As Harry takes his hand, he fights the urge to offer him his gloves. “Louis Tomlinson,” the man says. “And this is Charlotte and Félicité.” He gestures towards the blonde, then brunette, girl.

“Harry Styles,” he replies, shaking Mr. Tomlinson’s hand firmly before smiling at the girls.

“Well, Mr. Styles,” Mr. Tomlinson says with a smile. “You have shown us a great kindness.”

“It’s nothing,” Harry responds honestly. He turns to Charlotte and Félicité and asks, “Did you ladies enjoy the show?”

“Oh yes,” they both exclaim and begin babbling about their favorite parts.

“I loved the man who sang the songs about his sweetheart on the seashore,” Charlotte says dreamily. “That song was so romantic.”

Harry chuckles as Félicité interjects, “Well, my favorite part was the woman who did the magic tricks. Much better than some silly love song.”

Charlotte scoffs at that as Mr. Tomlinson laughs. “And what about you, Mr. Styles? What was your favorite part of the show?”

Harry thinks for a moment, a smile on his face as the girls anticipate his answer. “I think my favorite part was the two brothers who danced and sang,” he decides. “They were very talented.”

“Ah, that was my favorite, as well,” Mr. Tomlinson agrees, making Harry blush for some inexplicable reason. “I’ve seen quite a few family dancing acts and I think that one was my favorite.”

“Yes, I saw the Murphy Family Dancers here last month, and they were fairly unimpressive,” Harry comments.

Mr. Tomlinson beams at him. “Yes, I saw the same act. Definitely not as good as the Campbell Brothers tonight.”

Harry nods his head. “Do you enjoy the theatre then, Mr. Tomlinson?”

“Yes, I come as often as I can, which is, unfortunately, not often enough. But these two usually tag along with me, so we always have a nice time.” He gestures towards Charlotte and Félicité who are talking amongst themselves.

“Your daughters seemed to enjoy the show,” Harry says politely.

At that, Mr. Tomlinson laughs abruptly, his hand flying to his mouth to cover the noise. “Forgive me, Mr. Styles,” he says, still laughing. “I’m being terribly rude, but Charlotte and Félicité are my sisters.”

“Oh,” Harry says, unable to help the small smile tugging at his lips. “Please forgive my mistake. You are a kind brother to take them to the theatre.”

Mr. Tomlinson is about to say something else when an omnibus pulls up to the theatre portico. Harry feels a small twinge of disappointment that he will have to leave this charming man and his two sisters, but that feeling quickly disappears when he sees Mr. Tomlinson moving to get onto the bus. “Come along, girls,” he calls, and then glances at Harry. “Are you taking this omnibus, Mr. Styles?”

“Yes,” Harry agrees quickly, thinking he would join Mr. Tomlinson even if the bus was headed to Scotland.

He climbs into the coach, thankful that it’s not very crowded. Harry immediately feels much warmer now that the harsh wind isn’t blowing on him, but his chest protests at the abrupt change of temperature.

Harry’s lungs seem to contract as he coughs roughly into his elbow, wheezing and trying to catch his breath. He struggles for air as he continues to cough, and eventually his chest and lungs calm down.

When Harry can breathe again, he glances at his companions. Charlotte and Félicité stare at him with wide, horrified eyes, but Mr. Tomlinson’s look is one of concern. Harry barely notices the rock of the bus as it begins to travel down the snowy London streets.

“Mr. Styles, are you alright?” Mr. Tomlinson asks, his brows furrowed but his eyes kind.

“Yes,” Harry says, his voice slightly hoarse. “Unfortunately, I’ve contracted a terrible cough. I think the cold air agitates it a bit.”

“Have you seen a doctor?” Mr. Tomlinson inquires.

Harry waves his hand, dismissing the question. “Coughs are common in my line of work. Comes with working in hot rooms with little ventilation.”

Mr. Tomlinson doesn’t seem appeased by Harry’s nonchalance.

“May I inquire after your line of work, Mr. Styles?”

Harry nods. “Yes, I’m a baker.”

“Are you?” Mr. Tomlinson says thoughtfully. “Yes, I suppose I have heard that bakers work in rough conditions.”

Again, Harry dismisses his concern. “We must all work to survive.”

Mr. Tomlinson nods slowly. “Of course, but that still must be very challenging. Bakers work at all hours, I’ve heard.”

Harry nods. “Since I’ve only just begun my apprenticeship, I work the less desirable hours. My work starts before midnight and doesn’t end until the next afternoon.”

Mr. Tomlinson blows out a long stream of air, clearly impressed. “Well that certainly requires dedication. At which bakery are you apprenticing?”

“Styles Family Bakery in Stratford,” Harry says.

“Oh, yes!” Mr. Tomlinson beams. “I know it well. It’s just a few streets down from where I live – I’ve passed by it many times.”

Harry feels a small thrill at the idea of seeing Mr. Tomlinson again and an even bigger thrill at living in such close proximity.

“It’s a lovely shop,” Harry says modestly. “My father began as a baker quite young, and he is proud that I will continue his legacy.”

“You will undoubtedly exceed every expectation,” Mr. Tomlinson compliments, making Harry blush.

“You are very kind, sir.” Harry pauses. “And yourself? What line of work are you in?”

“I’m a tailor,” Mr. Tomlinson replies. “Like yourself, I work in my father’s shop. It’s steady work, and it allows me to keep an eye on these troublemakers.” He shoots a teasing look to Charlotte and Félicité, but they aren’t paying any attention to their brother.

“I imagine one would meet many interesting people as a tailor,” Harry wonders.

Mr. Tomlinson shrugs. “I suppose we do on occasion, but it’s mainly the people of Stratford we work with. Hardly any dukes or lords.”

“Still, it must be nice,” Harry muses, thinking about the long hours he spends hunched over the kneading trough until his arms and back ache from preparing the twenty stone worth of dough. A baker’s work can be quite isolating with incredibly unsociable hours. Harry thinks it would be very enjoyable working in a tailor’s shop, people popping by and chatting as he worked.

Harry’s conversation with Mr. Tomlinson continues easily as they travel further east. All too soon, Harry recognizes the omnibus coming into Stratford. He resists the urge to ask the driver to loop the block a couple of times, knowing that the poor sod sitting out in the freezing cold while he drives the horses must be exhausted and ready to go home.

“Well, this is where I must go,” Harry announces forlornly as the omnibus slows to a stop. “Mr. Tomlinson, ladies, it has been a pleasure to meet you.”

Harry sees a slight hesitation in Mr. Tomlinson’s eyes, and Harry wonders if he is as reluctant to see him go.

Timidly, Harry reaches out a hand to Mr. Tomlinson who takes it eagerly. Their hands mold together seamlessly, Harry’s gloved hand encompassing Mr. Tomlinson’s smaller, bare hand.

“I hope to see you again,” Mr. Tomlinson says, his voice quiet.

Harry swallows around a lump in his throat, confused by the potency of his emotions. “I as well.”

Harry reluctantly leaves the omnibus, stepping into the cold air. The snow has painted the streets in a fresh, clean sheet during the ride from Soho to Stratford, but Harry barely notices the beauty around him.

Instead, he stands on the street corner, watching regretfully as the omnibus continues down the street, eventually turning a corner and out of sight.

As Harry watches the omnibus go, he can’t help but wonder if he just let something wonderful slip from his grasp.

 

It’s a busy Monday morning and Harry is dead on his feet.

He’s barely slept since he met the charming and handsome Mr. Tomlinson two days previously, instead preferring to lie awake thinking about blue eyes and soft laughter.

Harry’s been mentally kicking himself for not inquiring after Mr. Tomlinson’s address so that he might call. All he knows is that the man works in a tailor shop in Stratford. Harry idly wonders if it would be too excessive to call at all the tailor shops until he finds the shop that contains the man who has been so insistently in his thoughts.

Fortunately, Harry is saved the trouble when the bell rings at the front of the shop. He’s hunched over the front counter, organizing loaves of bread in a display case. The bread is fresh from the oven and warm to the touch, and the calming, ever-present smell of freshly baked bread overwhelms Harry’s senses.

Until he has something – or someone – entirely new to overwhelm him.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were hiding from me behind that counter, Mr. Styles,” lilts a sweet and familiar voice from the doorway.

Harry nearly bangs his head as he stands up quickly from the display case. There, standing at the door, is Mr. Tomlinson. Harry can hardly believe he’s real – that the man who has been on his mind unceasingly for the past forty-eight hours is now standing in his shop, beaming at him like the summer sun.

“Mr. Tomlinson,” Harry breathes, joyful relief evident in his tone. “How nice to see you again!”

“Believe me, the pleasure is all mine,” Mr. Tomlinson grins, walking forward to where Harry stands.

Harry is so overcome with sudden shyness that he doesn’t notice at first that Mr. Tomlinson is holding out his hand. When he realizes, Harry quickly extends his hand to shake, but sees that Mr. Tomlinson’s hands are already full.

Harry’s scarf.

“Your kindness was unjustifiably repaid by my sister’s forgetfulness,” Mr. Tomlinson says quietly. “I apologize for our neglectfulness in returning this to you. I hope it wasn’t missed?” There is a pleading question in his eyes, almost as if he is worried he offended Harry.

Harry laughs softly. “Honestly, Mr. Tomlinson, I had forgotten all about it.” Mr. Tomlinson visibly relaxes from his genuine tone. “As far as I was concerned, your sister could have kept it for as long as she desired.”

Mr. Tomlinson shakes his head, biting his lip as he glances down, toying with the scarf in his hand. “You are too generous.” He looks up, meeting Harry’s eyes. “Your kindness is unparalleled.”

“S’nothing,” Harry mumbles bashfully.

Regardless, Harry takes the scarf from Mr. Tomlinson’s hands, allowing his fingers to lightly brush against the back of his hand. Without his gloves, Harry can feel the soft, slightly cold skin of Mr. Tomlinson’s hand. Harry shivers.

“Um,” Mr. Tomlinson says nervously, dropping Harry’s hand. “And as a way of saying thank you, I was wondering if you would do me the honor of accompanying me to the theatre this coming Saturday night.”

Harry blushes, and it’s his turn to look shyly at the ground. “Please, Mr. Tomlinson –”

“Louis.”

Harry glances up. “What?”

Mr. Tomlinson’s eyes are kind. “Please, call me Louis.”

A thrill shoots down Harry’s spine, and he smiles. “Alright, Louis. Then please call me Harry.”

“I will, Harry,” Louis says, and Harry preens at how lovely his name sounds coming from Louis’ mouth.

For a moment, Harry forgets what he was saying when Louis prompts, “So about Saturday…?”

Louis’ words bring Harry back to the present. “Yes, right. Louis, your offer is kind, but unnecessary. It was nothing for me give your sister my scarf – any gentleman would have done the same –”

“Harry,” Louis interrupts again.

“Yes?” Harry asks nervously, his eyes searching Louis’ face.

Louis seems to take a deep breath before he says, “Taking you to the theatre would partially be as a thank you for your kindness. If you would like, it would also be because I enjoyed your company so much the other evening. And because –” another deep breath “– I have thought of little else but you since we parted ways.”

Harry feels like all the air has left his body as he watches Louis nervously chew his lip. He didn’t really just say that – could he? Surely Harry is projecting what he’s been hoping to hear Louis say if they ever crossed paths again. Clearly this is all in his head…

Louis misinterprets Harry’s shocked silence. “Right, um,” he backtracks, slowly stumbling towards the door. “I’ll just go…”

Instinctively, Harry reaches out to grab Louis’ hand. Louis stills and glances back at him.

Now it’s Harry’s turn to smile kindly at Louis, although he is now smiling so wide his cheeks ache with it.

“Louis, it would be my pleasure.”

 

 _Two years later_.

The Styles Family Bakery bustles despite the early hour of the December morning.

Patrons from all classes – street-sellers ready for their early morning shifts and servants from great houses – come to pick up the day’s share of bread.

Harry has been at the bakery since the previous night, and he feels dead on his feet. It’s one of the rare times he’s worked all night, and his body is no longer accustomed to such strain. He is ready to go home, curl up in a cocoon of warm blankets, and sleep until New Year’s.

Ever since Harry’s father passed away in the spring, Harry has taken on more responsibilities as the new head of the family. He had left his apprenticeship behind several months previously, but upon his father’s death, Harry became the new owner of the Styles Family Bakery.

Harry enjoys his new position, even if he was thrown into it quite unexpectedly. While he still assists with making and baking the bread, his new job requires less manual labor and more supervision. He no longer stomps about in the kneading trough, but instead makes sure the others are properly preparing the bread.

Fortunately, his new position doesn’t require him to work such antisocial hours either. He only works at night if he comes in to check on his fellow bakers and listen to any concerns they may have. Niall and Zayn never grumble about the strain of the work, but Harry’s heard more than his fair share of complaints from the others. His foreman, Liam, is very judicious, so usually he deals with any major problems before they reach Harry.

The best part of his new job though is that since he isn’t working every night, he can spend more time with his new husband.

When Harry and Louis first began courting, they could only see each other once every week or so. With Harry’s apprenticeship at the bakery, he worked from night until day six days a week. The unforgiving hours left little time for a beau, but Louis was persistent.

On Harry’s days off, Louis would take him to the theatre where they would laugh themselves to pieces or to the park where they would talk until they had no voices left.

Falling in love with Louis was as natural and unsurprising as waking up in the morning.

Harry found himself living for those days that he could spend with his favorite boy. Likewise, Louis had no reservation in showing Harry his feelings.

They always parted with gentle, lingering kisses at the end of an evening spent together. Louis would even visit Harry at the bake house, sometimes at the most ungodly hours when Harry was drenched in sweat and gasping for breath from the physical exertion of the kneading trough.

When Louis first told Harry he loved him, it was on a warm spring day as they walked through Victoria Park. Harry commented on the beauty of some flowers, and the words slipped effortlessly from Louis’ mouth in response.

“I love you, Harry.”

Harry had looked up at him, flustered but beaming. “I love you too, Louis.”

They had spent the rest of their day hidden behind an old oak tree, sharing kisses and repeating those same three words over and over.

Their courtship continued and soon Louis made his intentions of marriage known. There was no doubt in Harry’s mind that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Louis, but they decided to delay the marriage until they had more financial stability.

But then Harry’s father died, leaving the family heartbroken and uncertain. They all mourned his passing, celebrating the good man who loved and provided for his family right until the moment of his death.

And when the will was read, Harry inherited the bakery, and he was ready to follow in his father’s footsteps. He took over the bakery with zeal, happy to be out of the bake house and to settle into the new role as bakery manager. Consequently, the promotion provided Harry with the financial stability needed to wed the love of his life.

Harry and Louis married on a cool September afternoon. Harry and Louis’ mothers cried, their sisters sang, and the newlyweds were unable to stop smiling as they gazed on their new husband fondly.

The past three months of marriage have been blissful for Harry. Each morning he wakes up wrapped in Louis’ strong, warm arms. They kiss lazily in bed before unwillingly dragging themselves to work – Louis to the tailor’s shop and Harry to the bakery. Each hour at the bakery is just a countdown until Harry can see Louis again. When they both finally make it home, they tumble into bed again, kissing and touching and loving each other as fiercely as they can.

Undoubtedly, marriage with Louis is as perfect as a snowy, Christmas morning.

Harry smiles to himself as he places freshly baked loaves on the shelves, reflecting on the past three months, when the bell to the bakery jingles.

His back to the door, Harry calls out, “Welcome to Styles Family Bakery” before turning around.

Louis stands at the counter, smiling widely at his husband.

“Louis,” Harry exhales, his lips automatically twitching into a smile.

“Morning, love,” Louis chirps, leaning across the counter to quickly peck Harry’s lips. “How’s work?”

Harry blushes. “I thought you had to be in the shop this morning. What are you doing here?”

Louis’ eyes twinkle. “Are you not pleased that I surprised you?”

Harry opens his mouth to protest, to say that _of course_ he’s happy to see Louis, but his husband continues.

“Here I was thinking how nice it would be to surprise you at the end of your shift, and you aren’t even happy to see me!” Louis’ tone is teasing, but Harry still wants to make him retract every word.

“Of course I’m happy to see you, love,” Harry argues playfully. “Just surprised me, that’s all.”

Louis smiles. “If you say so.” Then he turns to look at the bread on the shelves. “Have you dropped any loaves on the ground that you’d like to give to your poor, hungry husband?”

Harry rolls his eyes, but he knows by now to always save Louis some extra bread.

He’s turning to the shelves to grab a loaf for Louis, when suddenly he feels the all too familiar burning in his lungs. Suddenly, he feels like he can’t breathe as his throat closes up and a powerful cough rakes through his whole body.

Louis is by his side in an instant as Harry hunches over, his whole body shaking with the force of his cough.

The cough that developed two years ago has turned into a constant companion in Harry’s life. It’s common among bakers – the cramped quarters of the bake house with no ventilation can take serious effect on their bodies. Now that Harry spends less time in the bake house and more time managing the shop, he had hoped that his respiratory problems would fade away. Unfortunately, they seem to only be getting worse.

Louis rubs soothing circles on Harry’s back until he catches his breath again. He wheezes for a moment, the air burning as it travels through his lungs.

“We need to see a doctor,” Louis murmurs, his hand still on Harry’s back.

“It’s common for all bakers,” Harry dismisses, even though his voice sounds hoarse. “There’s no cure other than to stop working.” It’s a conversation they’ve had before, but it’s far from settled.

For once, Louis doesn’t press the issue, and Harry is thankful. The bakery is no place for this discussion.

When the spell has passed and Harry has caught his breath again, he goes to retrieve the loaf of bread for Louis. He takes it wordlessly, but watches Harry with concern while Harry tends to newly arrived customers.

Eventually, one of the shop attendants, an Irish man in his early twenties, arrives for his shift.

“Mornin’ Mr. Styles,” Niall nods towards Harry. “Mr. Tomlinson.” A nod to Louis.

“Morning, Niall,” Harry echoes. “How are you today?”

“Oh geez, sir,” Niall says as he pulls off his hat and coat, hanging them up by the door. “I was up all night because the new baby kept cryin’. Tessie wasn’t feelin’ so good, so I let her sleep, but baby just couldn’t stop his cryin’. Don’t think he likes me all that much.”

“Nonsense,” Harry protests. “The baby is bound to love his father.”

“Sure,” Niall grumbles. “We’ll see if you’s still sayin’ that once you got your own babies keeping you up all night.”

Harry can’t help but blush, looking away from Niall and Louis. It’s not that he and Louis haven’t talked about kids, because they have. Countless times. It’s just – the idea of having babies with Louis, of going to the nearby orphanage and adopting sweet babies, fills his stomach with so many butterflies he always feels a bit dizzy.

Louis, obviously sensing Harry’s thoughts, quickly intervenes. “Alright, Niall, whatever you say.” He gestures towards Harry. “I’m going to take this one home so that at least somebody will get some sleep.”

Niall wishes them farewell, and Harry knows he’s leaving the shop in good hands. The men downstairs in the bake house will be finishing their work soon, leaving the bread to be sold by the shop attendants. For today, Harry’s work is done.

Harry and Louis bundle up in their thick scarves and coats before stepping outside into the crisp December air. Harry loops his arm with Louis’ as they make their way through the streets of Stratford.

There is still a bit of slush on the ground from when it had snowed earlier in the week. The streets are crowded with pedestrians, focused solely on their destination. Harry and Louis join the masses, but they take on a more leisurely pace, strolling contentedly down the streets towards home.

“I always love cold December days,” Louis muses. “Reminds me of the night we met.”

Harry knows his cheeks are red, but not only from the cold. He squeezes Louis’ arm lightly.

“It was so cold,” Louis continues, fondness evident in his voice, “but I don’t remember feeling it at all. I just felt warm. Warm and happy.”

Harry grins, his heart swelling as his husband reminisces. “I will forever be thankful for the London cold bringing us together.”

Louis laughs warmly. “I will be forever thankful for Félicité’s loud complaining.”

Harry joins in laughing as they continue down the street.

“How shall we celebrate our first Christmas then as a married couple?” Louis asks after a moment. “This is the time of year we met – where you came into my life, bright and lovely. I want it to be special.”

“Well,” Harry says thoughtfully. “I already have the perfect gift picked out for you, so I suppose I’ll give you that.”

“Really?” Louis asks excitedly. When it comes to Christmas, he’s like a child. Harry always finds it so endearing.

“Yes,” Harry confirms, “but it’s a surprise so you must wait until Christmas morning.”

Louis scrunches his face in a way where he looks annoyed and fond simultaneously.

“It’s only two weeks until Christmas, my love,” Harry smiles. “You can wait that long.”

“What about my birthday then?” Louis asks. “What are you getting me for that?”

“Who said I’m getting you anything?” Harry questions, quirking an eyebrow.

Louis stops in the middle of the street, jerking Harry to a halt. Harry lets out a grunt as a man behind him bumps forcefully into him, but Louis chuckles. He pulls Harry towards the edge of the street, hidden underneath one of the shop’s awnings.

“Harry Styles,” Louis says faux-seriously. “You better have a birthday present for me or you will never have a first wedding anniversary. So help me, I will leave you so fast.”

Harry pouts on principle. “You know you can’t threaten to leave me every time I don’t do something you want,” Harry says reasonably.

Louis shrugs, but he’s smiling. “S’worked so far.”

Harry grins, leaning down to place a soft kiss to his husband’s lips. “You’ll have everything you want and more,” Harry murmurs against Louis’ mouth.

Louis sighs contentedly, squeezing Harry’s hands. “Got you, don’t I?” Another sweet kiss.

“Always,” Harry promises, wishing they were no longer on this crowded London street.

Louis kisses him again, lingering slightly. His hands slide up to the lapels of Harry’s coat, gripping them tightly. “Love you,” Louis says.

Harry tugs Louis closer. “Love you too.”

After that, it’s a quick race home. When they finally make it home, they collapse on the bed, hands fumbling, lips biting, and bodies moving as they profess their love as only two husbands can.

 

Harry may have lied.

He doesn’t have the perfect gift for Louis yet. In fact, he’s trying so hard to find him the _perfect_ gift that everything he’s considered has fallen extremely below his standards.

But over the past year, Louis has made subtle hints at how he would like some finer clothing to wear to the theatre. Harry can’t afford to buy Louis a new suit, as much as he would like to, but an accessory may just be doable. Going to the theatre is something special for them both, a reminder of the night they met. Buying Louis something nice for the theatre would be special and personal, just like Harry wants his gift to be.

Money is tight this year, Harry knows. As he strolls through the tailor’s shop, he knows this. _But_ , Louis was right. This is their first Christmas as a married couple, and it’s the two year anniversary of when they met. He wants to surprise his husband with two wonderful gifts for his birthday and Christmas. He wants it to be unforgettable.

Which is why Harry’s been doing a bit of extra saving on the side.

When he goes to the market to buy the day’s meat or vegetables, he only buys enough for Louis. He’ll buy himself something simple – a meat pie sometimes – but he pockets the money he saves for Louis’ Christmas present. He doesn’t do this every day, otherwise Louis may start to notice, but sometimes he also genuinely forgets to eat. The bakery is busy this time of year and he’s doing all he can to make sure it stays on top of demand. His hours are longer and is work is more strenuous, sometimes returning to the sweltering cave that is the bake house to lend a hand. In his busyness, he sometimes forgets to eat a midday meal, and when Harry remembers, it’s usually already time to eat supper anyways and there’s no point in buying something extra to eat. On the days he forgets, he pockets that money as well for Louis’ present.

As Harry browses the shop, he is thankful for the extra money he’s saved. The clothing is expensive, and he couldn’t afford anything if he hadn’t been saving.

While Louis deals with fine clothing every day in his work as a tailor, he doesn’t own anything quite as extravagant. His clothes are fairly simple – clothes designed for labor instead of fashion. Harry wonders at how grand they would feel if they attended the theatre in top hats and suits.

Of course, even his savings can’t afford that kind of luxury, but it’s nice to imagine.

“May I help you, sir?” A shop attendant asks Harry.

Harry smiles at the grey-haired man. “Yes.” He gestures towards a light blue fabric that had caught his eye. “I would like a tie cut in that color. How much would that cost?”

The shop attendant names the price, and Harry breathes a small sigh of relief. It’s just enough under budget that he will be able to buy Louis another gift.

“Would you like me to cut it, sir?” the shop attendant asks.

Harry lets his fingers glide over the soft fabric. The blue of the fabric reminds him of Louis’ eyes and also of the scarf he wore the night they met. Louis doesn’t own anything as fine as this, and Harry feels breathless just imagining his husband’s face when he sees such an extravagant gift.

“Yes, please,” Harry agrees easily. He provides the shop attendant with the measurements needed and the attendant tells him it will be ready to pick up by next week.

As Harry steps into the frosty London air, he can’t help but smile. He’s found one gift for Louis, and he knows his husband will love it.

His ideas for another gift are less inspiring, and they only become bleaker as he peers into shop windows as he walks down the street. Nothing stands out to him that would truly give Louis a thrill on Christmas.

Harry is just about to give up and head home when he passes by a newsstand. Reflexively, he stops to check the day’s headlines. He glances distractedly at the papers, but his eye catches on a picture on the front of the _Illustrated London News_. It’s a drawing of Queen Victoria, Prince Albert, and their children gathered around a fir tree, giving one another presents.

Over the past few years, the Christmas tree phenomenon has been steadily growing throughout London; Harry has overheard customers discussing them enthusiastically on several occasions. They were popular on the continent, and when the queen married her German cousin Albert, the tradition was brought to England. Christmas trees quickly became the most sought after Christmas decoration for the upper classes, with many standing proudly in public squares in the city and in the homes of any and all well-to-do families.

Harry loves seeing the trees decorated with candles and ornaments. He finds them exceptionally beautiful and grand, but has never considered having one for himself.

But now Harry wonders…Louis would be so surprised to see the beautiful tree in their home. Harry knows Louis has remarked before about how festive the trees are. His eyes always light up like the candles on the tree when he sees one.

With that, Harry’s mind is suddenly settled. With new determination in his step, he walks down the street towards the park to find out where to find a Christmas tree.

 

Later that evening, Harry and Louis sit around a roaring fire at a large house in Hackney.

Harry sits comfortably by the warm fire as his older sister Gemma bounces her six-month baby Mary on her knee. Louis sits next to him, talking with Gemma’s husband Michal.

Several years before Harry met Louis, Gemma married Michal, a middle class merchant. Her advantageous – yet still loving – marriage allowed her to move out of the Styles’ home in Stratford and into a more fashionable home in Hackney.

Harry and Louis always try to visit for dinner at least once a month, in part for Harry to see his sister, but also to see his nieces.

Three-year-old Amelia reminds him so much of his sister that she always melts his heart. She’s quiet but very funny, and has such a kind heart towards both animals and people. And like anyone with Styles blood, she adores Louis.

When they arrived at Gemma’s home, Amelia ran straight to Louis, jumping into his arms. Louis had smothered her face with kisses as she squealed, and Harry looked on fondly. Amelia has hardly left his side for the rest of the evening, telling him everything she wants Father Christmas to bring her and how Papa took her ice skating in the park. Louis had listened attentively to everything she had told him, and Harry had felt his heart clench at the sight of Louis and their niece. Harry has always admired how Louis is such a natural with children. God, he wants some of their own…

“What are you and Lou doing for Christmas?” Gemma asks, pulling Harry out of his thoughts.

“Oh,” Harry muses, sipping at his wine. “I think we’re planning on doing something quiet, just the two of us.”

“Well, we’re hosting a dinner here on Christmas Eve,” Gemma says. “Mother is coming, and since it’s her first Christmas without Father, I think you two should come.”

Harry nods. “That sounds nice,” he tells her earnestly. “I’ll talk with Louis, but I think we would both love that.”

Gemma smiles in understanding. “I know how it feels to want to spend your first Christmas with only your husband. We only request that you come in the evening. And since it’s Louis’ birthday, we’d love to see him. We’ve already invited Louis’ family and they plan to come. You two can have Christmas Day to yourselves. Will you come?”

 “I will,” Harry promises.

“Good,” Gemma says smugly just as Michal announces it’s time for Amelia to go to bed.

“Papa, I’m not sleepy,” Amelia argues around a yawn. She’s slouched against Louis’ chest, her head lolled back against his shoulder.

“How about this, Amelia,” Louis suggests. “If you get ready for bed, I’ll read you your favorite bedtime story.”

Amelia’s eyes light up, turning around in Louis’ arms to face him. “Will you do the voices, Uncle Lou?”

“Of course I will,” Louis agrees easily.

Amelia claps her small hands and hops out of Louis’ lap so he can stand up.

“Darling,” Gemma calls to Michal. “Take up our other baby as well.”

Harry notices that Mary has nodded off in Gemma’s arms, the warmth from the fire and her mother’s affectionate embrace having coaxed her to sleep.

Michal lifts Mary from Gemma’s arms, and then follows Louis and Amelia upstairs.

Once Harry and Gemma are alone, he eagerly turns to Gemma to tell her about Louis’ present. He’s so excited about the surprise himself that he’s been bursting to share it with someone.

“Gemma,” he exclaims excitedly. “You’ll never guess what I’m giving Louis for Christmas!”

Gemma’s brows shoot up, curiosity in her eyes. “What?”

Harry glances around, making sure Louis hasn’t come back downstairs unnoticed. Satisfied that they are alone, Harry turns back to Gemma.

“I’m getting him a Christmas tree!”

Gemma gasps comically, her eyes wide. “Really? Oh, he will love that!”

Harry nods enthusiastically. “I went to the park today and spoke with a man selling Christmas trees. He’s going to deliver it on Christmas Eve for Louis’ birthday. And then we’ll decorate it before Christmas and it will be such a wonderful gift!”

Gemma smiles, but then a small furrow appears in her brow. “Don’t take this the wrong way, little brother, but how are you affording that? Christmas trees and decorations aren’t cheap.”

“I’ve been saving,” Harry admits, although he purposefully neglects to say how. “I wanted Louis to have a wonderful Christmas, so I’ve been putting aside a little extra. It will be well worth it come Christmas Eve.”

Gemma nods, but a small look of concern lingers on her face. “Take care of yourself, please.”

“I am,” Harry protests automatically.

But Harry knows Gemma has years of experience of knowing when he’s lying. “I know the life of a baker is difficult,” Gemma says quietly. When Harry doesn’t look at her, she reaches out to grasp his hand. Her voice is insistent as she says, “We saw what happened to Father when he overworked himself and didn’t seek medical help. I’ve heard your cough, Harry. I know it’s not getting better. Just please, take care of yourself. If not for me, do it for Louis.”

Harry wants to argue, to say that she’s reading him wrong, but there’s something in Gemma’s expression that keeps him from doing so. “Okay,” he responds.

Gemma watches him for another moment, and then with a firm squeeze, lets go of his hand.

“Come on,” Gemma says after a moment. “I know you want to watch Louis sing Amelia to sleep.”

A grin powerful enough to make Harry’s dimple pop breaks across his face. “Of course I do.”

Smiling, Gemma takes his arm as they stand up and head upstairs to join their husbands.

 

The weeks before Christmas are always pure madness, and this year is no different. If anything, they feel even busier than usual.

Harry’s shifts at the bakery drag from the early hours of the morning until late at night, usually coming home to a quiet house and a sleeping Louis. Each night, Harry collapses in bed, sore and exhausted and famished, but he chooses to let sleep overtake him instead of focusing on the gnawing feeling in his belly.

Since deciding on a Christmas tree for Louis’ present, Harry had to cut back even more on his spending. He wants the tree to have the full Christmas effect, and that means candles and ornaments and tinsel. They aren’t cheap, but Harry is determined.

In the mornings, he drags his stiff and still comatose body out of bed while Louis sleeps peacefully. Harry leaves for the bakery before the sun is in the sky, battling the icy winds as he makes his way through the Stratford streets. Even though the shop is only two blocks away, it feels like miles in the frigid cold.

By the time Harry makes it to the bakery, people are already bustling in and out of the shop, collecting their daily bread. Niall has been out sick for a few days, meaning Harry has to pitch in downstairs in the suffocating bake house. As the manager, Harry helps with any extra work that needed taken care of. He mans the furnace, shoveling coal until his arms and back ache so that the fires baking the bread don’t simmer out. He helps mold the dough into loaves and then put it in the fire to bake. The hours are long, and they remind him of his apprenticeship years – the grueling, unforgiving, yet satisfying work.

It was one week before Christmas when it all became too much.

Harry has spent the past seven hours down in the bake house cellar, breathing in the heavy fumes that make his lungs ache and his vision blur. He stumbles up the stairs to the shop, desperately needing a place to sit down and something to eat. His last meal was the night before, and even then it was only a cold meat pie he picked up from a street-seller.

Food can wait though – he just wants to get home to Louis. It’s getting late in the evening, and Louis is most likely already on his way home. Maybe if he can see Louis and fall asleep next to him, warm in his husband’s arms, surely then he will feel better.

When he walks into the shop, Zayn is standing by the nearly empty counter after a full day of selling. Zayn looks up when Harry enters, and his brows come together in concern. “Harry?” he asks tentatively.

“Zayn,” Harry gets out, stumbling slightly. His throat feels raw and his stomach – it hurts with how much it wants food. The air in the shop – devoid of the merciless heat of the bake house – confuses his lungs, causing them to clench and his chest to ache. “Water?” he asks weakly.

Before Zayn can respond, the pressure in his chest becomes too much. Harry turns his head into his shoulder, a wheezing cough shaking his body. When he leans back, with bleary eyes he sees a mark of blood where he coughed into the fabric.

Unable to stop himself, more coughs shake his body, and Harry’s legs give out. With a weak cry, he collapses next to the counter. On the floor, he coughs and coughs, his hand slowing filling up with splatters of blood.

“Jesus Christ,” he hears, and it sounds like Zayn, but he also hears other voices. But he can’t make them out and he is too weak to look up and see who spoke. He leans his full weight against the counter, taking shallow, gasping breaths before he starts coughing again. His vision begins to go black, but Harry can’t even muster the energy to panic. His every thought is focused on getting air back into his lungs – to just _breathe_.

Suddenly, he feels hands on his shoulders, and he is lifted off the ground. He hears more worried voices, but can’t really make out what they’re saying. His body is hot, so hot, even as he feels cooler air hitting his skin. He may no longer be in the heat of the bake house, but it’s as if the heat has permanently settled under his skin, making him flushed and weak.

Suddenly, Harry is being lowered onto a soft mattress and cool hands are brushing his face.

“Harry, babe. Harry, look at me.”

That sounds like Louis. Harry likes the sound of Louis’ voice – he always has. It’s so soothing, even as his body fights against him. Harry wishes he had the strength to open his eyes and look at Louis as requested.

But he doesn’t, so he slumps back against the mattress and lets the darkness overtake him.

 

There is a soft humming coming from somewhere. Harry isn’t sure, but it sounds like the gentle murmur of someone singing. It sounds nice, like a familiar song. He follows the melody in his mind for a moment, unsure of the tune, but recognizing it despite his foggy brain. As the humming continues, Harry finally places it. It’s a song from two years ago – the night Harry and Louis met at the theatre. It’s the song that Charlotte had liked – about the sweetheart at the seashore. It’s sweet and familiar, like Louis himself.

His eyelids feel heavy as he tries to open them, blinking slowly a few times as he tries to take in the room.

He’s in his and Louis’ bedroom, laying in the middle of the bed with a thin blanket over him. Louis sits in the corner, and Harry groggily realizes that it’s Louis making the soft noise. Louis hums to himself as he stitches a pair of Harry’s trousers that have begun falling apart. He would look peaceful if not for the dark bags under his eyes and the nervous twitch of his hands as he sews.

Louis looks up after Harry has been watching him for a few minutes, and his eyes immediately widen. He casts aside the trousers and clambers over to the bed.

“My love,” Louis breathes, wrapping his arms around Harry. “I was so worried about you, but you’re okay. Everything is okay.”

Harry’s not so sure about that – he feels the itch to cough settling deep down in his throat. Nevertheless, he wraps his arms around Louis’ waist, pulling his husband closer to him.

“I hope I didn’t give you too much of a fright,” Harry responds. His voice is dry and raspy, sounding as if it has been stomped on.

Louis pulls back, fixing Harry with a concerned look as he sits on the bed. He takes Harry’s hand in his, squeezing slightly.

“You’re not well,” Louis says gently.

“I thought you said I was okay,” Harry points out. Each word scrapes against his aching throat as he speaks, but he tries to fight against the pain.

Louis shakes his head. “You’re okay because you recovered from your spell. But the doctor has been here and he wasn’t so sure – “

Harry resolutely doesn’t say anything.

Louis looks at him with pleading eyes as he continues. “Harry, your father died when he was forty-five. You’re only twenty-two, but you’re already exhibiting signs of the same illness that killed him.”

A heaviness settles in Harry’s chest at the gravity of Louis’ words.

“It was only six months after he began having difficulty breathing that he died,” Louis says, his voice trembling. His clutch on Harry’s hand has tightened, turning Harry’s hand white. “This has been going on with you for _two years_. I – I can’t lose you.” Tears have begun to fall down Louis’ face and his voice breaks as he continues. “I was terrified out of my mind when you were brought home, passed out and covered in blood. I thought you were dead.” He whispers the final word, his face desperate and blotchy with tears. “Harry, we have to _do_ something. I won’t let you work yourself to death.”

Harry takes a moment to let Louis’ words wash over him. Harry doesn’t want to die, of course not, but it’s no shock that bakers have difficult lives. Their work is demanding and it requires a lot of physical effort. Harry knew all of this before inheriting his father’s bakery.

“I don’t know what we would do,” Harry says weakly.

“We need to go away,” Louis immediately responds. “We need to get out of London. Go somewhere with breathable air where you can rest and recover.”

“We can’t just leave. Our families – our whole lives – are here,” Harry protests weakly. His mind still feels muddled and Christ, he really wants something to drink. They shouldn’t be having this conversation now.

Louis gives Harry a long look, clearly still wanting to argue. With a deep breath, his shoulders sag. The dark circles under his eyes look even more pronounced, and he runs a shaking hand through his hair.

“I want you to get better,” Louis says quietly but firmly. “That is the most important thing to me. Everything else – it’s just details.”

Harry doesn’t respond, too weak to answer.

Louis turns towards the door. “The doctor told me you need to eat and rest for the next couple of days, at least. There’re some meat and potatoes in the kitchen. I’m going to go get them, okay?”

Harry nods. Louis is just about to leave, when he pauses and turns back towards Harry. His eyes are still watery, but he walks determinedly towards Harry before leaning down and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I love you so much,” he whispers fiercely.

He leaves before Harry has a chance to respond, the door shutting with a quiet click.

Harry leans heavily back into the pillows, his head swimming. His eyes drift closed as he hopes for the oblivious darkness of sleep.

 

It must not be that much later when Harry wakes up again. Louis gently shakes Harry’s shoulder, pulling him out of his light sleep.

Harry blinks heavily, and sees Louis holding a tray of food. Louis sets in down next to Harry, handing him a plate piled with meat and vegetables.

“Can I have some water first?” Harry asks, and Louis quickly hands him a glass of cold water.

Harry eats in relative silence, Louis watching him closely as he tears off chunks of bread and meat. It’s the most Harry has eaten in weeks, and his body protests against such an influx of food. Once he feels full, he places his food to the side.

With a deep breath, Harry asks, “What are we going to do about the bakery while I convalesce?”

Louis studies him for a moment as if he is unsure how to answer. Eventually, he says quietly, “We’re not alone in this, Harry.”

“What does that mean?” Harry asks, but it comes out sharper than he intended.

Louis sighs. “I’ve already talked with Liam. It was he and Zayn that brought you here by the way – thank God. But even Liam said you’ve been working too much lately, so he’s going to make sure things are running while you’re away.”

“Liam’s busy enough as foreman,” Harry protests. “He can’t take on managing as well. That’s impossible.”

Again, Louis doesn’t say anything for a moment. When he does, his voice is firm. “Harry, I want you to rest. I’ll worry about the bakery. I’ll worry about money. You focus on getting better. I’ll handle everything else.”

Harry wants to keep protesting, but it’s getting harder and harder to breathe and he just wants to sleep again. So instead of saying anything, he nods.

They sit in silence for a moment, until Harry’s lids feel too heavy.

“Lou?” he asks quietly.

“Yeah?” Louis sounds so tired.

“Let’s sleep until New Year’s,” Harry suggests, a small smile on his face.

It takes a moment, but a weak smile breaks across Louis’ face and he lets out a watery laugh. “Yes, let’s do that.”

When Harry falls asleep, he’s wrapped in Louis’ warm arms listening to his gentle heartbeat thumping against his chest.

 

Over the next few days, Harry doesn’t leave their bedroom. He spends most of his time sleeping, and when he’s not sleeping, Louis is there with food, making sure he eats.

Harry still hasn’t told Louis he hasn’t been eating, but he’s sure his husband is able to figure it out. Harry knows he’s been losing some weight, and he didn’t have much to lose to begin with. His slim figure had turned into skin and bones, and he knows Louis has noticed.

Harry also drinks a lot of hot tea, which soothes his throat and placates his lungs. The doctor comes to visit again and gives Harry a stern lecture about the dangers of overwork and the importance of taking care of his body.

Louis hardly leaves his side except for when he pops by the tailor shop in the morning. He brings all his work to the house and sits by Harry’s bedside while he sews. Harry doesn’t mind the company, drifting in and out of sleep while Louis works.

Gemma comes to visit, bringing Mary and Amelia. Amelia smothers his face with kisses and gives him pictures she drew, saying, “An early Christmas present, Uncle Hazzy.” Gemma watches him closely, and he knows she and Louis are having heated conversations about him downstairs when they think he’s sleeping. Harry would ask, but he’s not sure he wants to know what they’re saying.

In the chaos of his illness, the holidays have fallen to the wayside. It’s only two days before Christmas that Harry remembers his gifts for Louis – his gifts that were supposed to make their first Christmas as a married couple special and unforgettable.

Harry is hit with the realization during one of Gemma’s visits. Harry feels mortified that he forgot – these gifts were supposed to add special meaning to their first Christmas as a married couple – and even more upset that he is still confined to bedrest and unable to collect the gifts himself. So like any good little brother, he enlists his sister’s help.

“The tree is to be delivered tomorrow afternoon,” Harry tells her. “Louis will be at work, so if you or Michal could be here to assist in set up, that would help me so much. I have the decorations, and Lou and I will put them on the tree together. So if you could run to the tailor’s shop on the high street and pick up a tie for Styles, then I’ll have everything ready.”

Gemma agrees, but gives Harry a concerned look. “Are you sure you won’t be overdoing it?”

“No,” Harry says determinedly. “We will still have the perfect Christmas.”

The next morning is Louis’ birthday. Harry wakes up with his husband sleeping softly on his chest. The gentle rise and fall of Louis’ chest calms Harry, and he cards his fingers adoringly through his husband’s feather soft hair.

Since Louis doesn’t have to be at work until the afternoon, Harry is content to let him sleep until he stirs naturally. Louis momentarily burrows into Harry’s chest, before yawning and stretching. He looks adorably rumpled and Harry can’t help the fond smile that takes over his face.

“Happy birthday, my love,” Harry greets, immediately leaning in to pepper Louis’ face with kisses.

Louis giggles, clearly delighted, before he takes Harry’s face in his hands to guide their mouths together. The kiss is closed mouth to avoid the sour taste of morning, but Harry loves the feeling of Louis’ warm lips against his own, adoring and eager. Harry pushes Louis gently onto his back, crawling on top of him as he continues to press kisses to his mouth.

“How are you feeling?” Louis asks between gentle kisses.

“Pretty good,” Harry replies, and it’s true. Breathing doesn’t feel as strenuous anymore, and the rest and food intake have done wonders for his strength. His cough is not as severe, although it still causes his chest to tighten and ache. He’s accepted that it’s something he will always carry from his years of grueling apprenticeship.

“Do you feel up to going to Gemma’s tonight?” Louis draws lazy circles on Harry’s back as he waits for his response.

Harry considers only for a moment. “Yes,” he agrees. “I want to get out of the house. I want to see my sister and the girls and my mother.”

Louis’ smile is as bright as the London sun on a warm spring day. He leans down to press a sweet kiss to Harry’s lips before leaning their foreheads together. “You being well again is the greatest present you could give me,” he breathes.

Harry grins up at his husband before capturing his mouth in another kiss. This time, Harry doesn’t hesitate to deepen it, wrapping his arms around his husband and losing himself in the feel of his touch.

 

Louis leaves for work after lunch, and he agrees to meet Harry at Gemma’s at half six.

As soon as Louis has left, Harry begins frantically cleaning out the parlor so that there will be a space for the tree. He sets out all of his decorations on the writing desk so that they can decorate as soon as they come home from dinner.

A man comes by with the tree in the early afternoon, and it is even larger and grander than Harry expected. Their parlor is modest, hardly suitable for receiving guests, but with the Christmas tree standing proudly in the room, Harry thinks they could receive the queen and prince themselves.

Gemma hurries by to drop off the tie, which is wrapped in a box with a bow on top. Despite her rush, she stays just long enough to give Harry a hug and kiss on the cheek. “So happy you are feeling better,” she whispers before dashing off to make sure everything is prepared for tonight’s dinner.

Harry hides Louis’ present in the pocket of one of his coats in the wardrobe. It’s one of Harry’s lighter jackets that he seldom wears in the harsh winter months, so he is confident Louis won’t find it by tomorrow morning.

With that, everything is ready for Christmas and all that is left is for Harry to get dressed for dinner. He dresses in his smartest suit, black and crisp despite its age. It’s the same suit Harry was wearing when he met Louis, and he smiles fondly at the memory. It’s only been two years, but he can hardly imagine his life before Louis. He turned Harry’s world on its head, bringing light and love that he never thought possible to experience.

As Harry makes his way to Gemma’s, there’s a slight spring in his step. It’s the first time he’s been outdoors since he fell ill, and the icy wind almost feels calming.

Gemma’s house, in contrast, is warm and bursting with life and energy. He hears Amelia laughing and a host of cheery voices greeting him as soon as he steps inside. Harry’s mother Anne and Louis’ mother Johannah quickly make their way to him, pressing his face with kisses.

“Mother,” Harry smiles fondly, embracing Anne. It has been several weeks since he last saw her, and she looks well. Her dark hair only hints at greying, evidence of the strain the past months have had on her. But her smile is as kind and lovely as ever.

“There’s my boy,” Anne coos, holding onto him tightly. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better,” Harry promises at Anne’s stern look.

Harry says hello to Gemma, Charlotte, and Félicité as he comes into the parlor, and gives sleeping Mary a light kiss on the forehead. Amelia is in the corner with her cousins Ernest and Doris, playing happily with their toys. Daisy and Phoebe sit proudly at the piano, practicing their Christmas duets.

“Where’s Lou?” he asks, noting that his husband is missing from the happy group.

“He and Michal had to step outside to take care of something,” Charlotte shrugs. “I think that was code for needing a smoke.”

Harry laughs, offering to help his sister in whatever way he could. They silence him with a glass of wine and Anne leads him to the fire so that they can catch up.

It’s not long after that Harry hears the heavy front door swing open and the sounds of Louis and Michal shivering exaggeratedly from the cold.

“Hello, love,” Louis greets, giving Harry a quick kiss. His lips are icy, almost as if he was standing outside pressing the snow to his mouth. Harry shivers playfully at the contact, and Louis swats his arm.

The dinner is a grand affair with roast turkey and potatoes and cranberry sauce and rice croquettes. Harry hasn’t seen so much delicious food since last Christmas and merrily digs in.

The conversation is happy and affectionate as the family catches up. Harry notices the concerned glances that his family members occasionally throw him, as if they’re worried he’ll drop right in front of them.

Thankfully, it’s not until after dinner drinks that the subject of Harry’s health is brought up. In the parlor, Charlotte, Félicité, and their four younger siblings are talking excitedly about what they want from Father Christmas while the adults stay in the dining room to engage in a more serious discussion.

“This can’t go on, Harry,” Anne begins. “Not after this exact illness is what took your father from us…” Her voice catches, and Harry’s heart aches to see his mother suffer so.

Harry reaches for her hand, pressing a firm kiss to the back of it. “I am doing the best I can, mother. But I don’t see how there is an alternative.”

Louis clears his throat, and all attention turns to him. “Over the past week, all of us have been talking.”

Confusion ripples across Harry’s face. “What do you mean?”

“The bakery has been doing really well,” Louis continues. “Ever since you became manager, business has been flourishing. I’ve looked at the accounts, I’ve looked at our own finances, and it all adds up. You can hire some extra help.”

Louis looks at Harry like he’s expecting him to protest. When Harry says nothing, Louis continues, his voice gaining confidence. “I’ve talked with Liam, and he said there are enough men in the bake house so that no one is overworked. He said everyone in the bakery is doing fine…it’s just you that works too much.

“So, Michal and I came up with a new plan.” Harry looks at Michal, who sends him an encouraging smile. “He’s not happy with his work and has wanted something new for a while,” Louis continues. “He’s experienced in business and would be happy to take over managing the shop. Since he doesn’t have your history of work in the bake house, he’s not at risk of developing any breathing problems.”

“So you just want me to give up work in the shop?” Harry asks, horrified. “Do you just expect me to sit on my arse all day?”

“Harry, you need to focus on getting better,” Louis’ voice is firm, offering no room for disagreement. “All of us, we all love you, and we all need you in our lives. It hurts us watching you fall so ill and not let any of us help you. We _want_ to help you.”

“You don’t have to quit work at the bakery,” Gemma pipes up. “Michal can work onsite for the supervision on the bakery. You can continue with the business aspects of the bakery – the finances and inventory. But you can do that from home so that you can focus on getting better. And you certainly aren’t banned from going to the bakery, but you have to consider your health.”

“Please, baby, will you think about it?” Anne asks. “You don’t have to decide tonight, but let us help you.”

“You don’t have to do this alone,” Louis says, an echo of his words the other night.

As Harry looks around at the faces of the people who love him most, he realizes that maybe Louis is right. It’s not a perfect solution – working from home sounds confining and unfulfilling – but they could make it work. Harry does want to get better, but he doesn’t want to feel useless. Lying in bed all day is a waste of time, but if he could contribute while still taking it easy…well, maybe that could work.

But it’s one look at Louis that makes the decision for him. This beautiful, loving man that he absolutely adores and adores him in return. Harry knows that Louis is honestly just trying to do the best for Harry and for both of them. The average life span for bakers is mid-forties, and that’s just not enough time with Louis. Harry wants to spend hundreds of more years wrapped up in his husband’s arms, and he will take care of himself in every way so that they can have a long time together.

“I’ll think about it,” Harry eventually concedes, causing his family to cheer. Louis beams at Harry, softness in his eyes.

“I love you,” Louis mouths, and Harry grins back.

They don’t stay long after that. Harry gives his family hugs and kisses and promises to visit his mother soon. Amelia is sleeping lightly in her father’s arms, but wakes up just enough to give Harry a light peck on the cheek. They wave goodbye and then step out into the cold Christmas Eve night.

Harry loops his arm with Louis’ as they walk through the streets. A light snow fell while they were at Gemma’s, giving the streets a soft, romantic glow. As they pass by a church, they can hear the muted sounds of carols being sung in honor of a baby born many years ago.

When they arrive at their house, Harry pauses before they go in, tugging on Louis’ arms.

Louis pauses, quirking an eyebrow at Harry.

“Your birthday present is inside,” Harry announces, grinning wide. “Are you ready?”

Louis’ eyes absolutely light up. “Oh my god, yes!” he exclaims, quickly grabbing at the door handle.

He pushes the door open and races inside excitedly as Harry follows behind. Louis makes it to the parlor only to abruptly stop in his tracks. Harry nearly slams into him, but catches himself at the last moment, sliding his arm around Louis’ waist instead.

“It’s a Christmas tree,” Louis says breathlessly.

“Yeah,” Harry confirms, trying to gauge Louis’ reaction. He’s just standing there, still and gaping at the tree. “Do you like it?” Harry prompts nervously.

“Harry,” Louis breathes. “You got me a _Christmas tree_.” He walks slowly towards the tree, reaching out his hand to stroke the pine needles.

“I got you some decorations as well,” Harry points out, gesturing towards the box sitting off to the side. “I have tinsel and candles and ornaments…”

Louis cuts Harry off by wrapping his arms tightly around his waist. “I love it,” he whispers, standing up on his tiptoes to press a kiss to Harry’s lips. “I can’t believe you got me a Christmas tree. I thought only the queen and the nobles had them.”

“Well, you’re just as special as they are,” Harry muses, “so you should have everything they have and more.”

“I love you,” Louis says, planting a soft kiss on Harry’s neck.

“I love you too,” Harry responds, hugging Louis close. They stand like that for a moment, just breathing each other in before breaking away to decorate the tree.

Since neither one of them has ever had a Christmas tree before, they don’t really know what they’re doing. Harry suggests they wrap the tinsel around the branches first before putting on the ornaments, and Louis agrees. Soon, the forest green tree is shining bright with gold and silver tinsel and sparkling ornaments that reflect the soft candlelight of the house. Harry teases Louis about putting the star on top of the tree, asking if he needs a step ladder to reach it. Louis swats at Harry’s arm and proceeds to climb onto Harry’s back so that he can place the star on top.

When they finish, Harry and Louis stand back to admire their work. “It’s beautiful,” Louis says in awe, wrapping himself in Harry’s arms. “It’s such a thoughtful present.”

“Only the best for you,” Harry replies, kissing the top of Louis’ head.

They hear the clocks chime the late hour and soon drag themselves off to bed. They trade soft kisses and fierce declarations of eternal love as they drift off to sleep, the promise of Christmas morning keeping them warm.

 

 When Harry wakes on Christmas morning, it’s to an empty bed. “Lou?” he calls gruffly, stretching his arms and legs like a starfish.

“Down here, babe,” he hears Louis reply from downstairs. “Happy Christmas!”

Harry smiles to himself, sleepily climbing out of bed. He goes to the wardrobe, wrapping his dressing gown around his body. He digs through his coats until he finds his wrapped present for Louis. He grasps it in his hand, ready to surprise Louis with it as soon as he goes downstairs.

He glances out the window and smiles. A fresh coat of snow fell overnight, leaving the London streets sparkling bright. It’s a perfect Christmas morning.

He heads downstairs with a slight spring in his step, the simplistic joy of Christmas Day making him feel almost as if he was a child again.

“Happy Chris –” Harry stops abruptly at the bottom of the steps. His heart catches in his throat and drops Louis’ present when his hands begin to shake, but they aren’t shaking from the morning chill.

Louis stands proudly in the center of the room next to the Christmas tree. But for once, it’s not his beautiful husband that Harry is staring at. He’s staring at the object next to him.

A crib.

Harry feels his eyes welling with tears. “Why is there a crib in our house, Louis?” His voice is watery, emotion heavy. “Please tell me there isn’t a baby in there.”

Louis laughs, walking forward to take Harry’s hand. “There’s not a baby in there, but I was thinking there might be soon.”

“You know you can’t get pregnant,” Harry says weakly.        

Louis laughs again, his eyes also filling with tears. “No, I know I can’t. But there are many people who can, and sometimes those people decide they can’t care for their babies.”

“What are you saying, Lou?” Harry feels like his heart might explode.

“I’m saying, I want us to adopt a baby.”

“Really?” Harry gasps, voice thick with emotion.

“Really,” Louis nods.

Harry chokes out a sob, pulling Louis close to him as they cry in each other’s arms. It’s something they’ve talked about before, long before they married because it’s something they both have wanted for ages. But when Harry’s father died, discussions about adoption became less frequent. Harry and Louis’ focus had been on taking care of Harry’s mother and the takeover of the bakery.

But now, time has passed. It’s Christmas Day and they are ready for children.

“Louis,” Harry gasps through a sob. “Do you really want to do this? Start a family? Have a baby?” He can barely believe it – the words feel foreign but also achingly sweet.

“Of course,” Louis responds, hugging Harry tightly. “You’re the love of my life and I want to have a family with you. I’ve wanted that since I walked into the bakery that morning, under the pretense of returning your scarf but really wanting to just be with you. I’ve always been so glad you said yes.”

Harry can’t take it anymore. He pulls back enough to bend down his head and find Louis’ mouth. The kiss is wet and messy – they’re both crying too hard to really put anything into it. But they kiss the best they can, sealing promises of love and forever into the other’s lips.

“I was thinking,” Louis pulls away to say, his voice breathless. “I was thinking whenever we talked about starting a family, you always said you wanted to stay home with our kids. We never really discussed the logistics, but I hoped that if you still felt that way, you could do that. You could stay home and take care of our baby while still doing the financial work for the bakery. I know you said last night that you’d think about it, but with a baby…”

“Louis,” Harry cuts off his rambling, looking down at his husband with a big smile on his face. Louis looks up nervously. “We still have a lot to discuss, but I think that could work. I do want to stay home with our baby and raise it, and if cutting back on my work at the bakery is best for my health and for our family’s future…” Harry shrugs. “I’ll do it.”

The laugh that comes from Louis is one of pure joy. “Oh Harry,” he gasps in relief, throwing his arms tightly around Harry’s waist, burrowing his face in Harry’s chest. “Oh, my love, I know it doesn’t solve everything, but this is such a good decision. You’ll get better, and Harry, we’re going to have a _baby_.”

“God, I can’t believe it,” Harry breathes. “I want to go to the orphanage right now and adopt a child. A baby, our very own!”

Louis laughs. “As much as I would love that, we should probably figure out some things first. Most families have nine months to prepare for their babies. I think we should have more than an hour to get ready for ours.”

Harry pouts, but his smile betrays him. God, he’s never been so happy. “I can’t wait to start a family with you,” Harry says, leaning down to plant kisses along Louis’ neck. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

“Me too,” Louis murmurs, his head tilting to the side to allow Harry better access. “Want a hundred babies with you.”

Harry makes a noise of agreement as he tugs Louis closer to him. His lips travel up to Louis’ jaw, relishing the rough scratch of Louis’ beard on his soft lips. “One or one hundred – doesn’t matter as long as they’re with you.”

When Harry’s mouth finds Louis’, there is a new, charged urgency in their kisses. Louis’ arms slide up around Harry’s neck, his fingers twisting tightly in the strands of hair as if they are his only anchor to the ground. Harry’s hands slip under the cloth of Louis’ shirt, his fingers tingling at the touch of warm, supple skin.

“Louis,” Harry moans in between kisses.

“What do you want, my love?” Louis whispers, tugging his hair gently.

“Want you,” Harry slurs, bringing his mouth back to Louis’ throat. He works his way down with wet, open mouthed kisses. When he reaches Louis’ collarbones, he pulls the collar of his shirt aside to suck harshly at the bone. He lets his teeth dig into the skin, nipping and sucking and marking Louis as his own.

“I’m yours,” Louis responds, his voice high and breathy the way it only becomes when he is so overwhelmed by Harry.

Louis’ hands slowly untwist from Harry’s hair, sliding down his arms until he takes Harry’s hands in his own. Harry is still kissing Louis’ chest when he feels Louis’ hot breath at his ear. “Want to make love to you, Harry,” he pleads, his voice nothing but a moan.

Harry groans at that, detaching his lips from Louis’ skin with a wet pop. Louis tugs at his hands while he sinks to the ground, pulling Harry with him. Louis places his small hands on Harry shoulders, slowly pushing him onto his back.

From his new position, Harry blinks up lazily to see the lights reflecting off the Christmas tree. He can see the crib in his periphery, but it’s the sparkling tree shining above him that catches his attention. He can smell the pine needles and the candles burning. He can smell the fresh wood of the crib, and he can smell Louis. The smell of his skin and a trace of cologne and Harry thinks it is the most arousing combination of smells.

He watches the lights twinkle above him for a moment, but then his view is obscured by something even more stunning. Louis leans over him, resting on his forearms to suck at Harry’s lips. Harry’s tongue dips into Louis’ mouth, warm and welcoming and delicious.

They kiss for long, heated minutes before Harry feels Louis hardening against him. Harry arches up, rubbing his hardening length against Louis’, causing both of them to moan. There are too many layers between them, so Harry begins tearing at Louis’ clothes. Louis catches on, hastily untying the knot of Harry’s dressing gown and pushing it open and off Harry’s shoulders. Harry leans up to let it slide off his body, his mouth still connected with Louis’.

They break apart only to tug off their clothes – shirts and trousers and underwear hastily discarded until they are both naked against one another.

Harry squirms a bit on his back, the rough drag of the carpet scratching his skin. It’s a feeling familiar to Harry, reminding him of the scratch of Louis’ beard whenever they kiss. It makes Harry want to rub his back all over the carpet until it’s red and raw and reminds him of Louis.

“Do you have oil?” Harry murmurs between kisses.

He can feel Louis nod. “Wanted to make love to you under the tree,” Louis replies, “so I hid a stash at the base.”

“Cheeky,” Harry says, grinning.

“Hopeful,” Louis corrects.

Louis leans away long enough to fetch the small cup of oil. He dips his fingers into the cup, coating them with the shiny liquid.

Instinctively, Harry spreads his legs for Louis to fit in between. It’s right where he belongs.

Louis kisses the inside of Harry’s thigh, working his way towards his hard cock. Harry’s hips snap reflexively, desperately wanting Louis to touch him.

Harry is ready to beg when Louis finally leans down to suckle at the head of his cock. Right as he does that, Louis presses a slick finger at Harry’s taint. Harry moans loudly at the feeling, his voice deep and rough.

Encouraged, Louis sinks down right as he presses his finger inside of Harry.

“Louis,” Harry moans. “God, you feel amazing.”

He feels Louis’ tongue licking at the underside of his cock, tracing and teasing the vein. He begins steadily pumping his finger in and out, and Harry feels hot all over. He can’t even decide what sensation to focus on – the tight, hot heat of Louis’ mouth or the heavenly rhythm of his finger in Harry’s arse.

“More,” Harry begs after a minute. “Please, Louis, another.”

Louis complies easily, slipping another finger easily inside Harry. He bobs his head on Harry’s cock, spit spilling out of his mouth and down the side of his cock. The blow job is messy and uncoordinated with Louis’ movements jerky, but Harry feels full and cared for and completely overwhelmed by Louis.

Louis begins scissoring his fingers right as he pulls off Harry’s cock. The cool air hits Harry’s wet cock and he moans at the sensation.

“Feel so good, baby,” Louis says, his voice hoarse the way it only becomes when he’s had Harry’s cock in his mouth. “So perfect, love you so much.”

At his words, he crooks his fingers just right, causing Harry to cry out and his cock to blurt precome. Louis rubs the pads of his fingers relentlessly against Harry’s spot, a third finger soon joining the mix, and Harry begins babbling incomprehensively. He’s sure they’re words of pleasure, but he couldn’t make sense of them even if he wanted to. He just trusts Louis to understand what he needs.

“I’m ready, Lou,” Harry eventually slurs. “Please.”

“Yeah, baby,” Louis moans. “Always ready for my cock.”

“Want it,” Harry agrees easily.

Louis smiles at him before leaning down to press a kiss against Harry’s mouth. Harry barely has the energy to kiss back, so he just lets Louis suck and bite at his puffy, sore lips.

Eventually, Louis pulls away to line himself up with Harry’s hole. Slowly, he pushes in and Harry moans at the stretch, wrapping his legs around Louis’ waist. Louis stops every few centimeters to adjust himself and let Harry grow used to the stretch. When he’s finally bottomed out, Louis gives Harry another kiss.

“We’re going to have a baby, Harry,” Louis murmurs against his lips. “We’re going to be _parents_.”

Harry moans brokenly at his husband’s words. “Louis, please,” he begs. “Move.”

Louis gives him another quick kiss before fulfilling his request. His pace starts slow, taking his time as he pumps in and out of Harry. Harry’s thighs shake at the strain, but he keeps them tightly around Louis as if he would slip away otherwise.

Louis begins building up his pace, and soon he slams into Harry with repeated shallow thrusts. He changes the angle slightly, and that small change has him hitting Harry’s prostate. Harry cries out, his hands scratching at the carpet for something to hold onto. Louis’ hips snap against Harry’s skin, rough grunts falling from his lips at every thrust.

“Love you so much,” Louis grits out as he thrusts, perfectly hitting Harry’s prostate every time. “Best thing to ever happen to me. Can’t wait to bring home a baby. Going to fill this house with them.”

“Louis,” Harry cries, overwhelmed by Louis’ words. “Wanna come.”

“Yeah, come for me, love. Always so beautiful when you come. Show me, Harry. Show me how beautiful you are.” He wraps his hand around Harry’s cock and begins to pump him at a relentless pace.

It only takes a couple of more thrusts before Harry cries out, spilling into Louis’ fist. His body feels like it’s on fire, burning in every place Louis touches him. Harry sags into the carpet, the rough drag on his overheated skin feeling almost pleasurable.

Louis continues to pound into him, but his thrusts become jerky and uncoordinated, indicating he’s about to come. After a few more thrusts, Louis connects his hips with Harry’s arse and stays there. He throws his head back and moans as he comes, filling Harry up. Harry moans in response at the feeling, loving the way Louis marks him as his own.

When Louis finishes coming, he collapses against Harry, the smell of sweat and sex overpowering the smell of the pine needles and candles.

“Perfect boy,” Louis murmurs into Harry’s chest, his finger lazily tracing patterns on his skin. “Happy Christmas.”

Harry smiles, turning his head to find Louis’ mouth for a gentle kiss. “Happy Christmas, my dearest Louis.”

 

 _Christmas Eve. One year later_.

The fire is warm and soothing against Harry’s back. He leans against the hearth, sipping at his mulled wine while chatting with Charlotte. She’s telling him about her work as a governess at a large home in Surrey. She adores the children she teaches, and also adores the estate’s scullery maid. They’re talking about an engagement and Harry couldn’t be happier for her.

Charlotte has just finished a story about when the children decided to play a prank on her by hiding all her dresses when he hears a familiar cry.

Instinctively, Harry turns towards the sound, scanning the room crowded with his family and friends before seeing who he was looking for.

Louis and Gemma are talking in the corner, and baby Ellen is crying into his chest. Louis rubs her back soothingly, but that seems to do nothing to calm her.

Harry excuses himself, making his way over to his husband and five-month-old daughter.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Harry asks as soon as he reaches Louis, scooping Ellen into his arms. He bounces her lightly, kissing her cheek, and she slowly stops crying. She looks up at him, her bright blue eyes shining and her soft brown curls falling in her face. Harry brushes her hair out of her face, smiling softly at her as she calms. Louis mutters something about not being the favorite parent, which causes Gemma to laugh sympathetically.

“I’m surprised she’s not sick of me, to be honest,” Harry confesses, continuing to bounce Ellen as she sags against his chest, clearly exhausted. “I’m the only one she sees all day – you think it’d be a relief for her when Louis comes home and she gets a break from me.”

Gemma laughs at that. “I have the opposite problem. All day long, Amelia just demands to know when Michal will be home. She loves her father.”

“And Ellen loves you too,” Harry insists to Louis. “How could she not?”

Louis beams at Harry, while Gemma makes some kind of gagging noise before excusing herself.

Louis reaches a hand to pat gently at Ellen’s back, her golden curls falling into her face. “She loves her papa too,” Louis says quietly. “And her father loves him too.”

Harry smiles, leaning over to kiss Louis softly.

In the past year, Harry has been slowly recovering from his illness. It hasn’t been an easy journey, and he still feels the tightening in his lungs if he pushes himself too hard. He relapsed in February, effectively putting off their adoption plans until the autumn. But Harry couldn’t be more thankful for the delay because he couldn’t imagine a more perfect child than their sweet Ellen.

Harry spent the summer adjusting to managing the bakery from home, keeping track of financial records and making frequent trips to the bakery, but nothing as strenuous as what he had once done. Michal has taken over supervision of the bakery with great success, hiring several new bakers to ease the strain on all the workers. Harry finds that he really enjoys managing the finances, especially because it gives him plenty of time to play with his new baby.

Harry and Louis adopted Ellen in August when she was three weeks old. She is the best baby – sleeping when she’s supposed to and only crying when she’s tired or hungry. Harry and Louis spend hours just holding her, feeling her tiny breaths against their chests. They give her all the love and affection they possibly can, and then some.

Louis and Ellen are two beautiful reasons for Harry to keep getting better. He works hard, but he takes care of himself, because he doesn’t want to miss a moment of being with his loving husband and his darling baby girl.

As Harry holds Ellen to his chest, he smiles at Louis. He’s surrounded by his loved ones, and has the two he loves the most right by his side. “Happy Christmas, Louis,” he murmurs, knowing he could never want anything more.

“Happy Christmas, my love,” Louis replies, and Harry can tell by his crinkle-eyed smile that Louis feels the same.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Tumblr: [casuallyhl](http://casuallyhl.tumblr.com/)
> 
> And a drabble for you [here](http://casuallyhl.tumblr.com/post/155212722213/but-did-louis-ever-get-his-tie)
> 
> Tumblr post [here](http://casuallyhl.tumblr.com/post/154985858023/title-even-supposing-author-casuallyhl)
> 
> Check out noellehenry's amazing cover art [here](http://noellehenry.tumblr.com/post/154434685674/even-supposing-by-anonymous-for-now-summary)!! x
> 
> And Rachel's wonderful cover art [here](http://casuallyhl.tumblr.com/post/156358307713/title-even-supposing-author-casuallyhl)
> 
> Happy Holidays! xx


End file.
